


Boundaries

by scarletcougar



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Gay Sex, M/M, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletcougar/pseuds/scarletcougar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet won at the 50-followers mark on tumblr.</p><p>Fenris and Anders encounter each other's boundaries. Fenris decides to cross that boundary... without touching and then walks away smirking to see what Anders will do next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bloody Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ophelias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelias/gifts).



Weeks! It had been WEEKS that the mage had plagues his dreams. Fenris paces a now visible path in the dust of one of the ignored rooms in the decrepit mansion. He and the mage had been in each other face, each practically glowing with fury on every trip Hawke dragged them out on. The last straw was when the damned abomination spat that Fenris was still a slave even though Danarius was now gone.

\---

_“Listen to them Fenris!” Anders pointed to a tent where Isabela and Hawke sounded very busy, laughing and flesh slapping in sheer abandon. “They… THEY are free! They do what they wish because they can, because they want to, because they respect each other. You! For all Danarius said you are oh so talented, brood so much and are so snarly and prickly you will die of old age because you will never allow yourself the freedom to even fuck someone. Try trusting in someone other than Hawke for a change. And mooning after him like a sad puppy is a waste. He doesn’t swing that way and you’ll never get into his bed. Wake up Fenris! The world is huge! You don’t have to be as emotionally crippled as…” Anders stood shaking his staff at the elf and then stormed off as if he struggled with the demon within him._

_\---  
_

Fenris stood so still, his anger had been white hot. He felt like rending the mage limb from limb. At the same time he felt shame so deep that he hunched his shoulders and had sunk in on himself and brooded more deeply. As much as he hated those venomous words, they had been true. The mage had watched him so much, probably out of self-preservation, and had seen more of Fenris’ soul than he ever wanted anyone to know. He did feel emotionally crippled. He still felt leashed to Danarius. He knew he had latched onto Hawke and that it was not right.

Fenris paced more. He kicked over a lounge chair and stared down as its beautiful brocade, buried under the dust. What was it about Hawke and Anders that drove him to this madness? He picked apart his thoughts and emotions as if debating the chant line and word with Sebastian. They were both mages. They were both powerful. They both did great things. Fenris had to grudgingly admit that yes, Anders did great things. Healing was miraculous and mysterious and Fenris could watch the process for hours with awe as the mage snatched people from the edge of death and knit flesh till he exhausted himself without ever asking for anything in return. Hawke had that selflessness too, but Anders had it to his own detriment. Oh, they were both possessed. Only Hawke managed his spirit far better. But then, Hawke had people very close to him to help him stay in check, lend him support if he ever needed it.

That is when it hit Fenris. The abomination was doomed. Doomed to be consumed by Justice and end up doing terrible things. Justice was cold, dispassionate, crippling. Fenris gasped. Anders words burned with new meaning. The mage had healed Fenris uncountable times. But these words were meant to save Fenris and to free him. Anders was as afraid for Fenris destroying himself as he was of his own self-destruction.

He left the mansion and made his way to the stairs to Darktown. His feet carried him into the mire before his mind could catch up to him. He stood in the doorway of the clinic, a silent shadow and watched. The healing magic shimmered light blue from Anders hands, tugging soothingly at Fenris’ brands. It wasn’t the first time he had snuck down to just watch. Anders sent out his last patient and then staggered unsteadily to his writing desk for a plate of crumbs that he picked at with his fingers. Fenris melted away out of sight and returned to Lowtown. A question hung in his mind. Anders was chained to the spirit in him, sometimes a prisoner. Maybe he was exhausting himself on purpose so the spirit had nothing to use? Maybe he healed because it was the only good thing he had to hold onto? Isabela used to speak about Anders like someone would speak of fine silk brocade that was soft, gentle, yet also fun and daring. Was that Anders still there? Buried under the dust of Justice? Anders kept people as much at bay as Fenris did but for different reasons. Fenris secretly was afraid he would be hurt or trapped by someone else. Anders… was afraid Justice would cause him to harm someone.

It left more questions. If he was going to start thinking of Anders as human, why not go all the way and wonder if maybe the stories of the actions of the Templars were true? There was growing evidence of it here in Kirkwall that Fenris found he could no longer ignore. He heard a small shriek and pressed his back to the wall before peering around a corner. And here was another bit of that same evidence. A Templar had an elven child no more than six years old bruised and chained like a slave, collar and all. The child let out a little wail and the Templar cats a firm smite, silencing the waif. The mother rushed at him again and he struck her hard with his plate mail gauntlet. She crumpled to the floor and he marched off with the child over his shoulder. Everyone cowered and did nothing to save them or help them. He was too far away to have done anything, even if he used his brands to lend him speed. He moved closer now and saw that the woman’s eyes were still open, staring blankly. No… she was dead. He pressed his lips into a thin line. Was this not almost exactly the story Anders once told of when the Templars claimed him from his mother? His fists clenched so tightly the claws punctured his palms and he hissed and cursed and released his fists.

Now he had a reason to see Anders. He bought a couple meat pies, a chunk of cheese, and a melon before heading back down to Darktown. He was approaching the clinic to see Anders starting to lock it up.

“What do YOU want?” the blond asked disdainfully.

Fenris adjusted the bag of food on his shoulder and then turned open his palms.

“And you call me the foolish one!” Anders waved him inside. “Guess you would rather come to me about those than let Hawke know your stupidity. He won’t believe it from me and you could deny it.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Do you always have to think the worst of people?”

“You are one to talk. You think the worst of me all the time! You hate me so bad that I have no idea why you bothered to let me heal you… ever.”

Fenris shifted his weight uncomfortably at the accusations. His eyes dropped to the ground and he mumbled out, “I do not hate you.”

Anders felt like he just got slapped with ice. Then he narrowed his eyes and presses a hand to Fenris’ brow suspiciously.

“Phah! What are you doing?!”

Anders replied defensively, “Checking if you are ill too, or delirious or… something.”

“Just… fix my hands.”

“I… You don’t like magic and I’m all tapped out.” They stared at one another a little longer. Finally Anders gestures to the desk where Fenris could sit on the clean-ish stool. “I’ll get some water and ointment and see what I can do till my mana replenishes.”

“Will food help replenish you?”

“Sure… but…”

Fenris handed over the bag, wincing from the pain in his hand.

“Oh…”

The next hour was awkward and quiet as they ate together and Anders cleaned and bandaged Fenris’ hands. “There, come see me tomorrow, early, and then I can heal them.”

Fenris stood, nodding.

Just before he stepped from the clinic, he turned, “Templars took an elven boy of six and killed his mother. I want to get him back.” He left before Anders could respond.


	2. Sharing Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming to terms...

Anders must have stood staring at the door for too many minutes because his knee started to ache from standing too still. He shook his head wondering if maybe the elf was possessed instead. Maybe it was a trap. Maybe it was a ploy to get him locked up in the Gallows. He had overheard the elf and choir boy talking about. He was too furious to stick around for the end of that conversation, though, and did not feel there was any point interjecting or trying to convince the blinded men otherwise. He flopped onto his hidden cot after blowing out the struggling candles. He was too tired from all the healing today.

_But I have stopped doing the Mage Underground. It has gotten too dangerous. They won’t understand. They don’t understand. Why? What has possessed Fenris to save a mage? Save a child? What did he see to change his mind._

Anders rolled over unable to sleep with his mind buzzing.

_I will ask him tomorrow. What the Void am I thinking? I am actually going to go to his filthy mansion to heal him and talk about breaking into the Gallow’s again to save a mageling._

As much as he didn’t think he’d fall asleep, he did anyways. Justice helped with that. Justice liked the elf. Ander thought it was unhealthy. But he had to admit that the smell of the lyrium was refreshing and the soft song soothing, it quieted Justice and allowed him to actually be able to think more clearly. He swore he would never tell Fenris this or the elf would be totally freaked out.

The next morning, the sliver of sun shot through the docks hole in the wall to DarkTown, cutting through the fog and waking Anders. He sat on the edge of the cot, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He stripped them off and gave himself a swift washing from a basin of water with a cloth and some soap shavings. He then washed his shirt and smalls and draped them over a stool to dry for the day, hopefully. He had only one other set which he pulled on now and then dressed again.  He tugged here and there making sure he was as well dressed as he could, considering his poor attire. A quick scrub of his teeth with a brush twig and some paste made of baking soda and peppermint oil made him feel better than normal and ready for the day. He double checked his breathe against his palm. He combed the tangles from his scruffy hair with his fingers several more times than usual and retied it with the green strip of leather. All routine.

**You are preening?**

“I am not!” the blond shouted into the empty clinic. “He is a hateful elf who wants me dead. YOU are the one with the unhealthy desire to be close to him. He would rather rip out my heart. And besides… if anything were of interest with him… not like I have let anyone that close even long before you and I got into this tangle. You don’t know anything about sex and love anyways and keep deterring me from the supposed distractions. And of all things you want me to be distracted with the ELF!?” He snatched his satchel and stuffed in a couple potions and ointments and bandages. A travel ready medical kit.

He sighed heavily. “Just a quick medical call to make sure he can still use his hands and fight and rip out my heart. That is all. Oh… and make sure he does not rip out my heart.” He was talking to himself again. It didn’t matter. He was alone. He was always alone. Justice didn’t really count anymore because it was rare that he actually had conversations with the spirit. The thoughts of Justice and her own were so entwined that they seemed like surer thoughts of his own, and no longer a dialogue. That too made it lonely. He missed talking with someone who talked back. he huffed another sigh thinking maybe the preening comment was actually himself speaking and being foolish.

“Right! Saving a mageling. What the Void is Fenris thinking?!” He left the clinic and locked it up before checking this way and that. Then he dashed over to the semi-blocked gate that lead to the cellar of Hawke’s mansion. He pulled out the key Hawke gave him and let himself in. He looked up the stairs hatefully. The elf would just have to be patient. He took the stairs at his own pace and paused about half way to adjust the bandages around his right knee.

In Hawke’s place, the mabari gave a deep woof that echoed in Anders’ bones. He patted the broad head and waved at the dwarves as he headed out into HighTown. He paused by the mirror in Hawke’s entrance to make sure he was as close to presentable for HighTown as he could be. _See? I was not preening for the mage-hater. It’s embarrassing being a scruff in a fancy district. That is all._

He walked with purpose through HighTown, keeping his eyes down. He left his staff in Hawke’s place so he would be less conspicuous. He usually did that when he shopped in HighTown. But this was not a shopping trip. This was a healing trip to save the elf some embarrassment. The thought crossed his mind to not visit the elf and let the vicious beast explain his foolishness to Hawke. It would be dark Justice, and no less than the elf deserved for all the hurtful things directed at Anders. But the healer in Anders was compassionate and just could not allow that. He made a promise and thus bound himself to it as best as he could.

Up one more flight of stairs by the Chantry and across a garden to the door of the supposedly haunted mansion. He rolled his eyes at the thought. Then he snickered to himself. Fenris had this ability he recently learned to phase his whole body for a few seconds to avoid receiving damage from a weapon, which would pass through him as if he were a ghost. Hawke named the new talent ‘ghosting’ and made the notion of this mansion being haunted partly true and too funny to Anders. He knocked on the door. Knocked hard in case the elf was asleep. He smirked to himself at the thought of starting the elf out of bed. When no one answered, he knocked again and tried the door. It was locked. Still no answer. He grumbled and took out the lock picks he carried in a pouch. He always hung onto a few sets of spares for Hawke and Varric and Isabella. His clients sometimes traded them for healing. Varric had taught Anders a little about lock picking so he did his best to pick the lock to Fenris’ home. He broke several picks, cursed a great deal under his breath. Then gave up and looked over his shoulder a couple times. He wiggled his fingers close to the lock and zapped it open with magic. “So there.” He walked inside. “Fenris?! Where are you? Are you dying of fever?!”

He cautiously headed up the stairs to where Fenris usually kept his personal living space. Fenris was belly down on his large double bed, arm hanging off the side, both hands still bandaged, and a bottle of wine empty on the floor near his hand. “Are you hung over?”

Fenris jerked awake. Then rolled over unsteadily.

“By Andraste’s tits! You’re still drunk?! What the Void, Fenris? Didn’t I tell you not to drink?!”

“No.”

“Oh… why are you shit-faced?”

“Dulls the pain,” the elf almost slurred.

Anders had never thought about it before. Fenris once mentioned to Bethany ages ago that the brands hurt, but never said another word since. “Does it really hurt all the time?” he gentled his tone feeling guilty for having ignored this for so long. No wonder the elf was crotchety all the time. At the elf’s nod, Anders sat on the bed beside him. “Give me your hands. I can heal them with magic now if you let me.”

Fenris wavered a little where he sat and tried to force himself into better coherency. He was too drunk. How many bottles had he downed last night? Two? No… three. He turned a bit where he sat and tried not to look into the mage’s face. He dropped one hand into the waiting hands before him. Interesting. There was so much contrast in their skin tones. Anders was fair, hinting pink from being lightly sunburned while out with Hawke on the coast. There was the tiniest dusting of freckles. It made him think that maybe Anders and Aveline were born of the same stock, tall, rugged frames, dark golden hair with the hints of red in certain light.

He was amazed at the difference with his dusky hand. Though what amazed him more was how gently Anders was with him. He has spied on Anders healing others often, secretly wanting that gentleness directed at him. It was the closed he got to anyone caring about him, even if it was the abomination. Anders carefully removed the bandage and inspected the wounds, then took Fenris’ other hand and unwrapped it too. Fenris tensed, waiting for the pain from contact direct with skin and brands, braced for memory flashes. His brands tingled and flickered a little as cast a little magic and then stopped.

“I need to clean them again before finish the healing. And here. Drink this. You are way too drunk for me to do this well.” Anders offered a dark brown thick liquid. He was surprised that Fenris didn’t even ask about it before swallowing it back. Anders struggled and covered his smirk with a hand as Fenris grimaced at the very bitter brew, then shuddered as the effects rattled through him and sobered him.

“That is terrible!” spat the elf.

Anders chuckled lightly, unable to hide the small grin. “I know, sorry. But it works. Lady Elegance usually gives me a few for Hawke to sober him up. I want her recipe, but she won’t give it to me. I’m still not able to break it down yet to figure it out for myself, but I will eventually. I never thought I would need to use it on you.”

When the healing magic started to glow around the mage’s hands and coat the injured ones, Fenris watched with open fascination. This magic never seemed to hurt him. Never did when the mage buffed him before battles, or dropped protections on him, or healed him in the middle of a fight. He stared as his own wounds closed and healed painlessly. He swallowed loudly and pulled his hands away, averting his expression as his ears turned pink.

“Fenris? Does my magic help your brands? Can I try to heal them?” he wondered at the child-like curiosity while he was healing. It was positively adorable for Fenris. Then the blush. What was that for?

“He should be moving on. There is a child to rescue.”

“I’ll want an answer to that question soon. It bothers me l lot knowing you are hurting when I can do something about it. No one should live in pain.” He wished he could interpret the strange look the elf gave him just now. He swallowed back a snipe not wanting to disrupt this rare moment where they were not fighting. None of their friends would believe him that they were sitting and being almost friendly to each other. Did Fenris really think Anders hated him? “Hey, I… look, I’m sorry for being an ass to you all these years. I’m tired of us fighting all the time.”

A veil of white hair hid Fenris’ face as he dropped his eyes. “Me too. And yes, you may try to heal them. But I doubt it will stay. When you heal me on the battlefield, it does stop the pain, but only for a few days. If I am close to you healing others, somehow that helps too.” He tried very hard to not be harsh, to try to speak with the mage as if he were speaking to Hawke or Varric. That Anders was not spewing mage rights at him helped. “But we should try this another time. That boy should not stay with the Templars.”

“About that.”

“What? I thought you wanted to save mages.”

“Oh! I do! But… You hate mages. You believe they should be locked away where they won’t become abominations or magisters. Why save one?”

“You are possessed, but you still heal. Demons and blood magic block the ability to heal. You … You sometimes lose control and your… spirit seems like a demon, you sometimes call him that when Vengeance is not Justice. But you have not yet lost control enough to become a true abomination. I will watch you for that moment and end you if that happens.”

“Promise?” It sounded far too much like a hopeful whisper.

The elf nodded. “I have watched you healing. You… do much good,” he conceded. He thought the mage’s eyes looked watery at the compliment and wondered why. “I watched templars take the boy yesterday,” he explained. “He smote the child hard then hit the mother hard enough to kill her. The child he carried away over his shoulder, collared and shackled like a slave. I think he hit the boy too.” He paused to try to recall the scene, feeling the anger rise again in him. “I thought I looked upon what happened to you. Is that what happens to them all?”

“Most, yes.”

“Then help me get him out. You run that Mage Underground.”

“I… yeah, we’ll get him out. It won’t happen today, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Fenris. It isn’t as easy as trips to the coast with Hawke. Meredith has cracked down much harder. Most of my contacts have been executed as mage sympathizers. Thrask. Keran is being watched. Cullen…”

“Cullen?”

“Not all Templars are bad, just most of them who give in to corruption and power. Like… not all mages are bad, just the ones that give in the power and corruption.” Anders grinned ruefully. My manifesto… don’t go scowling. I am not going to preach at you. Just saying that the manifesto is a work I have done with Cullen to try to find a middle ground. Try to find a way for mages to be safe and templars to be the protective order they should be and find a way for there to not be chains and cells and … stuff. But the Underground… it… I haven’t done if for almost a year.”

“Not since you nearly killed that mage girl.”

Anders winced. That was exactly about the time he stopped. It was just too risky, it pushed the limits of his control of vengeance. There were too many chances of getting caught.

“Please, help me save him. I failed to do so when I saw him taken. I want to make it right.”

“Ok. Give me a day to get information and work out a plan. You said he was elven? We’ll take him to the Dalish. They will adopt him.” Anders stood and grinned back at Fenris. “I like being your friend more than your enemy, Fenris. But I will understand if you want to keep up the pretense with everyone else.” He headed to the door, not wanted to strain what they had this moment. “Meet me this afternoon at the clinic?”

Fenris returned the smile and nodded as Anders left.


	3. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short, i know... but it just felt right to end it here

It took a couple days for Anders to tap into a network of informants, including Varric who found this whole thing incredibly interesting that Fenris… their Fenris… wanted to free a mage. Not only their usually mage-hating Fenris wanting to free a mageling, but wanted to do so with Anders!

Varric and Hawke came along. They stood in Darktown at a sealed drain that had not been opened in years since the Mage Underground fell apart. Varric had the plans for where the boy was held and the timing. They had to be in and out in a very small window. Hawke turned to Anders, “I care about you Anders, but if Justice messes this up…”

“I will deal with it,” Fenris finished.

Anders thought he might piss himself there. The sewer underground dripped all the way under the water channel to the Gallows. Anders wondered how in the Void he had mustered courage to do this before. Justice had been quiet lately, quiet with Fenris around. _I like his song and how he thinks and the choices he makes lately. They are Just._ Anders hurried to catch up.

Getting into the Gallows at this early hour before sunrise was easy. Finding the boy, less easy, but manageable. The boy was badly hurt and chained in a room. Fenris put a hand on Anders’ shoulder, “Let’s get him out, then heal him when we are free from those who might sense you.” His brands lit and he tore open the shackles.

They almost made it out when Templars blocked the last tunnel to Darktown. Pinned down, Varric held the ground with his crossbow, the child a bundle at his feet. Hawke and Fenris fought hard as Anders cast protections and lightening. Another Templar stepped out to surprise them, smiting Anders so hard, the mage dropped. Fenris streaked back to fight him off till Anders had his feet again, then trusted the mage to cast the Templar into oblivion with some spell. Having been smited, Anders had no magic to rely on. Hawke had to fall back with the child, Varric covering. Fenris gutted the Templar he was with and ran for the retreat. Anders with a glance over his shoulder nodded to him and fought on with his staff alone.

Fenris stopped still wondering what the Void he was doing. Then he realized it. Self-sacrifice was NOT the answer, however noble. Justice should have taken over by now. Unless Anders got smited. Once again he streaked to the mage’s side timing a thrust of his great sword under Anders arm at the Templar who dodged right. The staff hit the helmet. The Templars sword struck through feathered pauldron high on the shoulder instead of the heart. A glowing fist thrust forward as Fenris pivoted around Anders into the last Templar, ripping his heart out. The mage staggered into Fenris. “Idiot mage.” Fenris cursed and yanked the sword free to dragged Anders out.

Anders woke in the infirmary. They had not dared carry him farther.


	4. Confusion

The little orphan was carried off by Varric and Hawk to Dalish on Sundermount. Hawke was worried about leaving Anders, but it wasn’t like he could do anything. Fenris stood guard over the mage and closed the clinic doors, locking them and protecting the mage from any possible Templar invasion.

Thankfully, no Templars came. The minutes stretched on into hours. Anders still breathed. Fenris had tried to stanch the bleeding and waited. Finally there was a little flicker of magic, then a groan from the mage. Anders opened his eyes and muttered remarkably colorful language. He tested another flicker of magic. The smite was wearing off but not enough to heal himself yet. Amber eyes opened, squinted and slowly focused on… the elf?

“Good. You are awake. Heal yourself.”

Anders groaned again, more to himself. _Stupid elf. It doesn’t work that way._ He didn’t voice the thoughts, but he said instead, “The Templar smited me. I can’t yet… potion? Get me a potion?” He struggled to get up and the clawed gauntlet held him down.

“Where and what does it look like?”

Anders sighed through the pain, “Red. Healing potions are always red. Shelf in the back behind the curtain. I keep my stuff there.”

Fenris strode firmly back there, swished aside the curtain, and stepped in. He stood shocked a moment. This was where the mage slept?! And Fenris thought his mansion was bad… This was… he didn’t have words for this. The cot was bandaged to hold it together. The mattress was made of scraps and stuffed with … weeds? Grasses? He had wondered why on one trip Anders was collecting a bunch of long grasses. The blanket was so threadbare that a cobweb would have served better. The only thing decent on the bed, and it was well-worn, was a red velvet pillow no larger than a book with a Chantry sun embroidered on the face. He tore his eyes from the sad bed and scanned the shelves. Books, scrolls, scraps of paper… empty bottles, a small pack for traveling with bandages. No potions. Wait! There… on one shelf were two red bottles and one green one. He remembered the green one. The vile brew that sobered him. His nose wrinkled at the memory. He took the two red ones and gave the room a cursory look once more. No food. No spare change of clothes. How was it that the mage did not starve or simply fade away?

Fenris returned and helped Anders to sit up and drink each potion. Anders drank down the first, but only half of the second. He then struggled to get his coat off. When the elf huffed about Anders not drinking all of the second bottle, he explained, “Saving it, to pour over the wound.”

Fenris hated his ignorance. He set the bottle carefully aside and helped the mage undress, flicking Anders’ hands away. The wound was bad, but already the blood had stopped leaking out. He dribbled the remaining potion over the front and rear of the wound and watched the skin knit into a half healed state. His green eyes did not miss the other scars there, all down Anders’ back. The mage looked like one of the worst abused slaves of Minrathus.

“Did Templars do that?”

Anders glanced over his shoulders, amber eyes meeting sage green. “Yes.”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed and his eyebrows knit into an angry scowl. “They will not have you again while I draw breath,” he vowed. “Are you well enough now to move?”

Anders was still absorbing the conviction behind the elf’s words. “Uh… uh, yes? I think so.” He carefully pulled on his shirt and coat under a disapproving glare, then he stood. He took slow steps towards the back room so he could lie down on his cot.

“Can you travel to Hightown without passing out?”

Anders stopped. “Maybe?” Confusion scrunching part of his face. Why must the elf sound so cryptic?

Fenris marched into the back room and packed… everything… into the one travel bag he found. He marched back out. “Good. Come with me. You will sleep in my mansion where they will not find you. Not without losing valuable body parts.” He steered Anders out of the clinic.

Anders' mind still did not catch up, even half-way to Hightown. What had gotten into the elf? What part of the fade did he maybe wake up in that is making him think the elf was kind and generous? No… this was not the fade. Did they really reach that point of friendship? What was the catch?

“When you are well, you can try to heal me.”

There was the catch. Not that it was a bad one. Anders had already offered, had wanted to help. Not to mention that Justice liked the elf’s lyrium song and Anders found the elf attractive. More attractive when they were not spitting insults at one another.


	5. Crossing the Boundaries

The dilapidated estate looked markedly less dilapidated when Anders arrived in it. Here, the warrior offers Anders a room just to the left of the one Fenris mostly lived in. The entry had somehow seem a miraculous cleanup of the desiccated corpses, as did most of the rooms. Sebastian must have been visiting often, concluded the mage. Why else would Fenris bother to clean up? The elf still only really used the one large room at the top of the stairs. The room offered to Anders was simple, with a sturdy yet comfortable looking bed and heavy oak wardrobe. A trunk butted up against the far wall. There was a tiny writing desk. And… to the mages shock, a small shelf with magical tomes.

When had Fenris done all this? Why?

“You may rest here. I will fetch potions from the apothecaire. Are there any other supplies you need for healing here?” Fenris spoke from behind the gawking mage, close enough that Anders thought he felt the words on the back of his neck.

A small shiver slithered down the blond’s spine. “To heal me?”

“PHAW! Of course to heal you,” as if Anders lost whatever scrap of wits he had with his injuries. The elf turned away, “Well? Do you need anything?”

“Anything?”

“Yes… anything.”

Anders shrugged, “Lots of paper and something to write with?”

Now Fenris growled angrily, “I will NOT have to propagating that manifesto in here.”

The mage gave the elf a very mild look, mostly because he was too tired to be upset by this outburst. “No, so I can properly teach you to read and write.”

Pointed ears flushed a deep embarrassed red and Fenris, “My… apologies. I would very much like that.” Fe fled to get supplies and food before he had another foolish outburst.

Anders explored the room, the desk, the empty trunk, the wardrobe with some basic clothes that might fit him, and the book. Magic books. Nothing really exciting. Anders had already read most of them training in the Circle, but the gesture was still surprising. He draped his armored coat with the feathered pauldron over the desk chair. He groaned painfully as he bent and undid his boots, kicking them off under the desk. His staff leaned now in a corner of the room. Should he consider this permanent or temporary? Temporary. Everything is temporary. As attractive and helpful as Fenris was being, it was hard to forget how the elf used to be towards him. He sank onto the bed, oh… it was not just a sturdy bed, but could be ranked as lesser luxurious. He rolled into it and tucked his feet under the thick blankets. Double-wide and of a length that Anders could stretch and not discover his feet hanging off the bed. He almost wept at the comfort this offered him, burying his face in the plush pillow then sighing and drifting to sleep.

This was how Fenris found the mage upon return, deeply asleep in the bed he had provided. Good. He set the pile of papers and writing supplies on the desk along with some potions: healing and lyrum. He nearly jumped as he felt the flickering of magic in his brands warning him that magic was being used. Anders was not so deeply asleep, apparently. A small stir and the mildest casting of healing, caught the warrior off guard. He relaxed in the doorway and watched as Anders drifted back to sleep.

They danced around each other for a few days, sharing food, sharing wine (well, Fenris drank the wine mostly while Anders preferred tea), and lessons started for the reading and writing. They developed a kind of quiet rapport and routine. Afraid in a way to disturb the lack of spiteful arguing between them. Afraid to acknowledge the growing interest, too. Never crossing each other’s personal boundaries, always just coming close to that line.

Fenris and Anders encounter each other's boundaries so often, that is started to become noticeably awkward. Varric teased then about it when each was by chance alone with him. Finally, Fenris decided to cross that boundary. Normally, it would be Anders to take such initiatives with a relationship, but Anders felt too uncertain here, too uncertain for who and what he was and where his life would be going. Fenris, however, had found freedom and while he was not usually the one to take initiative, when he did make up his mind, there was no deterring him from his chosen course of action. So one night, Fenris crossed that boundary, without touching, just to see what would happen.

They almost bumped into each other on the landing between their rooms. Anders limped without his staff, holding an armload of paper and a simple reading book. He raised an eyebrow, wondering why the elf seemed to be firmly blocking his path. Before he could ask, Fenris took a step closer, into Anders personal space. The mage instinctively took a step back, herded by the warrior, till his back pressed against the wall between their doors. He hugged the papers and book to his chest, a little afraid the elf finally changed his mind and would rip out his heart. Fenris stepped in so close, their breaths warmed each other’s lips. Then breath warmed Anders’ ear as he squeezed his eyes shut in nervous anticipation, and maybe a small amount of excitement.

“I trust you.” Words Anders never thought to hear from Fenris. “I accept you.” More words Anders never thought to hear. His heart thudded hard as a lump swelled with emotion in his throat. “I want to show you that I can be gentle. I will never hurt you as they have hurt you.” Now Anders opened his eyes to meet the steady gaze of sage green. “If…” here Fenris faltered and his own shy uncertainty flickered. “If you will have me as your friend… or more than.”

The papers and book slid from Anders’ arms to scatter forgotten on the floor about their feet.

Fenris stepped back, smirking to himself as he headed into his own room, leaving the door open for Anders. Would the mage follow? Would the mage trust him? Were they ready to maybe experiment with this trust. He hoped he was clear enough with his interest. He wanted to see what the mage would do now.

Fenris heard the door close behind the mage. “Yes… I want you.” Meant in all senses of the words.


End file.
